Warm Embrace of Death
by QuietMuse
Summary: Edward is the bringer of death and the stealer of souls. As the Grim Reaper himself, Edward's lived a lonely existence in relative isolation, but all of that changes when the one person who can see and touch him is born: Bella. How far will he go to make sure she remains by his side? AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a story that's been sitting on my computer for quite a while. It's about three-quarters finished so I'm hoping it will be done by the time my updates have caught up. A few notes: it's definitely AU, some characters will be OOC as a result, and the end game is Edward/Bella.

* * *

 _Prologue_

 _A few months from now..._

Death's arms encircle my waist and the heat of his bare skin against my own is almost too hot to handle.

"Hold on," he whispers into the shell of my ear. With a sudden tug, the room – with its creamy white walls and cheap furniture – disappears from view as he takes me away from everything and everyone I've ever known.

My eyes are squeezed shut by the time we touch ground and the denial of what's happening makes me keep them shut for a few more seconds.

What's that saying? If I can't see it then it isn't real?

"Bella? You can open your eyes now," he tells me with a soft laugh. I don't want to.

Something flutters around my ears and I try to swat it away without my vision.

"Come now," he says softly, coaxingly. "You asked for this, remember? Be brave."

One eye opens slowly. The other quickly follows when I see what's in front of me. There's absolutely no denying that I'm not on Earth or any mortal plane any more. Not even in my wildest fantasies could I imagine such a heavenly world.

I gasp, backing into Death's strong body as he grabs my shoulders to still me.

As breathtaking as my surroundings are I can't help but feel some resentment at my situation, which dulls the world's beauty.

"I'm going to die here," I whisper sadly. Perhaps I'm already dead. I'm not quite sure how these sort of things are supposed to work. When he doesn't respond I look over to him. "Aren't I, Edward?"

Death nods. "You should not have made a deal with me."

* * *

 _Present Day_

Of course it has to be raining on the day of Leah's funeral. The sudden appearance of bad weather means the hundred or so of us have to take shelter inside the warm chapel while we wait for tents to go up at Leah's burial plot.

I stand shivering just inside the entrance of the church, trying to make myself invisible to the large, noisy group of guests. There are so many people in such a small space – most of whom I've never seen before.

They're mainly young adults in their early to mid-twenties. At twenty-two Leah was only a year older than myself and I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise that a likeable woman had so many friends other than me and Jacob, but I had selfishly expected – or, perhaps wanted – it to be a small, quiet gathering.

Small groups were never as imposing as large ones.

My bitterness quickly turns back to sorrow as I watch Leah's younger brother break down over her open casket on the far side of the room, unable to hold back his loud, mournful sobs. They had lost their mother at a young age and when their father, Harry Clearwater, died of a heart attack a few years back Leah had wordlessly stepped up to become the maternal figure to her brother Seth. Now he has no-one.

I turn away from the scene to face the church doors, placing a hand on my chest to try to shake the grip of pain in my heart. I never knew grief could be so physically painful. The poets weren't exaggerating when they said mourning feels like a thousand knives through the heart.

With one hand up on the church door I'm almost close to having a breakdown when a very muscular, very naked torso bumps into me.

With a gasp of surprise I stumble for a second before strong arms surround me. They steady my wobbling form before pulling me into the bare chest without warning. I'm about to offer an apology but the words die in my throat when I recognise the familiar grip. _Him._

"I regret your pain," the half-naked man murmurs into my hair, his voice a parody of sympathy. I don't believe he even knows what pain or regret is; those emotions are much too human for him to understand.

I pull back slightly to get out of his arms without bringing any attention to myself. The man embracing me is no human, or at the very least he isn't a human anybody else can see, and I'd learnt at a very young age that when you try to communicate in public with an entity no-one else can people will write you off with having classic hallucinations. They'll medicate you and keep you out of sight. The nut case.

Crazy Isabella.

' _I see Death,'_ I had told my parents at the age of six, a few days after meeting the half-naked man I've come to know as Edward. Thankfully, when I was child he was always fully clothed in an old Victorian-era style of top hats, frock coats, or blouses, rather than parade around shirtless.

They'd laughed me off every time I mentioned my new _friend,_ thinking I was simply getting the lines from the movie 'The Sixth Sense' wrong. Eventually, when I refused to stop talking about _him_ , their laughs became frowns and my quirkiness was labelled mild instability. Then severe instability.

An imaginary friend isn't so cute when you pretend he kills things.

"You shouldn't be here," I whisper harshly, glancing around to make sure no-one would think I'm talking to them. "Look around you. It's because of you that we're _all_ in pain. You're not welcome here, Edward. Not today."

His lips pull back into a smirk as he lets me go with an exaggerated flourish. The movement draws my attention to all the white scars across his Adonis-like body, with a particularly nasty looking one trailing down from his shoulder to his elbow.

 _Like a Viking warrior,_ I think, not for the first time. His thick brows and deep bronzed hair that sits on his broad, muscular shoulders simply complete the image. Death shouldn't be so attractive, he should be a crippled old man with missing eyes and teeth hobbling along with a cane.

I shouldn't have to clench my legs together every time I see him.

"Bella," he says my name with a breathy sigh, "I think if anyone should be at a funeral it should be me. Really, I should have a special 'guest of honour' seat at every single one – all things considered."

My hand begins to spasm lightly as the urge to hit him washes over me simultaneously with the urge to bawl my eyes out. Instead, I close them and settle for doing some breathing exercises I'd learnt as a child.

 _Breathe in, breathe out. And in, and out._ It takes a little while, but eventually I calm myself down enough to face the current bane of my existence. He's no longer smirking, his thick brows instead pulled together in concern.

"I really do regret these circumstances, Bella. If it helps you, I took your friend before she experienced too much pain."

In a macabre way knowing that does help. A little.

"Please," I beg, "Just leave and let me mourn in peace. Alone."

"No. I wish to be here."

He folds his arms and straightens out his neck and back muscles until his entire six-foot-two frame – I measured as a child – is looming over me. If I didn't know better I would think he's trying to intimidate me. I sigh internally knowing he will do as he pleased no matter what I say, especially now that he's set his mind to it. Simply ignoring him might be the easier option, and I don't want to get into an argument at a funeral.

"Then if you're going to be here you at least need to dress respectfully," I whisper, gesturing to his bare chest and plain dark trousers, adorned with multiple straps that serve to hold numerous weapons. Weapons he never carries or needs.

I must linger too long on his form as his chest puffs out behind his folded arms subtly – unintentionally – and with all the arrogance and pride of a male peacock.

"I will remind you that none other can see me. It does not matter what I wear."

"I can see you, so yes, it does matter. Please change."

"If you insist," Edward says with a solemn nod before he shifts.

When I was a teenage girl I was _almost_ jealous at the way he could change into, or conjure up, anything he wanted. The very second a model stepped out onto a runway in the latest Armani he could have it on him, and yet he preferred to remain near nude. He called the things he materialised a simple illusion but I felt the fabrics just fine.

A long, black hooded cloak now envelopes him completely, hiding his devilishly handsome face and tall body in its shapeless material. He's clutching a plain, steel scythe in one hand. "This is more suitable, is it not?"

I'm sure he intends it to be sarcastic but it _is_ a much more suitable look for Death. For the Grim Reaper. The man who takes souls from dying bodies.

I've known him for almost as long as I can remember and while the black cloak gives me some comfort in its ability to hide Edward's nudity, I can't hold back the slight tremble of fear as I peer into the black void of his hood, trying to find his familiar face.

It's pitch black. Soulless.

"Bella," a croaky voice says from behind me. I jump in surprise before whirling around.

It's only Jacob, my boyfriend of eleven months. He's wearing a dark suit that highlights the slightly red discolouration of his face and eyes; an obvious sign he's been crying hard for quite a while. His usually straight black hair is a complete mess. "Hey. You doin' okay? You were staring rather intently at that wall."

That wall would've been Edward.

"As well as can be expected. I was just thinking."

He nods before taking hold of my hand lightly. "We've finished putting the tents up. Do you want to say your goodbyes before we take her? It'll be a closed casket outside, of course."

Leah's younger brother is away from her casket, being held by his elderly great-aunt I've only met once in passing. Without a backwards glance to Edward I tug Jacob along with me towards Leah's coffin. It's so much easier to feel confident in the big group with him by my side.

When we reach her the first thing I notice, besides her unnatural stillness, is that her once long, dark purple hair is cut short and dyed back to her original black shade. The deep magenta hue had been so strikingly beautiful against her dark skin that she never switched back, keeping it perfectly maintained and styled for over five years.

 _Not that it matters any more,_ I think before bursting out into uncontrollable sobs.

A few others glance my way as Jacob wraps an arm around my shoulder in comfort. He's only a few inches taller than my short five-four height, so I fit well into the crook of his arm. Out of embarrassment or empathy he tries to soothe me with long strokes up my back and soft cooing sounds.

It's a similar action one might take when trying to tame a hurt, wild animal. But it works; my sobs begin to ease.

Reaching forward from Jacob's embrace I lay my hand on top of Leah's still one, not caring in the slightest if it's against the rules to touch the deceased. Before her death the only differences I would have noticed is the extreme contrast of our skin, but now that I have her hand in my warm, pale one, I can feel the unnaturally cold, rubbery texture of it. Nothing about her looks right – everything is just _slightly_ off.

A wax statue is a better way to describe what I'm seeing.

"Goodbye, Leah. You know I'll always love you," I whisper. It's the hardest goodbye I've ever had to say. Sister Mary's line ' _death is easy for the dead; it's the living who have it rough'_ never seems more true than it does right now.

I quickly settle back into Jacob's side. He squeezes me tight before leading me outside and I burrow my face into his chest to hide my tears while the clergymen arrange for Leah to be moved. I wish this wasn't really happening.

As we make our way towards the flimsy tents I keep my eyes locked onto the moving grass beneath my shoes. In an attempt to distract myself from my surroundings I take to counting the amount of weeds or flowers I step on on our way. Zero, so far.

Cemeteries are terrible places. In general they're creepy, but for the 'insane' women like me? Those who see Grim Reapers, and who see things they they shouldn't? They're downright terrifying. Death by himself I can handle just fine – he's all swagger and talk – but the other beings I've been gifted to see are a nightmare. A literal nightmare.

Although I've only ever seen a few ghosts before, their audible, mournful cries were enough to last a lifetime. Since my very first meeting with one I've avoided every place I could think of that might contain a wandering spirit: hospitals, cemeteries, morgues, and retirement homes to name a few. Haunted house tours are definitely out of the question. Even Halloween parties give me the shivers.

Sometimes I just get really unlucky and they appear in areas I wouldn't expect. A regular McDonald's restaurant for one. That was an experience I'll never forget.

Feeling a smidgen of bravery, I look up from the ground for the briefest of seconds to scan the area; nothing but rain soaked headstones. Tombstones, dirt, and people. It's clear. I'm just about to breathe a sigh of relief when I hear it.

The shrill, piercing shriek of a forgotten soul rises up from somewhere behind me. Somewhere close.

I shake my head in denial, frantically humming a tune under my breath in an attempt to drown out the soul's wails but it doesn't help. She's so _loud_. I clutch hard onto Jacob's arm, resisting the urge to bolt. I hum louder.

The ghost's unworldly presence is behind me now. A low moan echoes into my ear and I stop breathing. The hairs on my arms stand up and I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter in an effort to make reality disappear.

 _Stay calm. If no-one else can see it then neither can I. It's not there. It's not real._

I think I hear the word 'please' being whispered softly. My heart is racing so fast from fear that it's hard to keep my balance. Cold, dead fingers run the length of my arm. I want to faint.

"I have got her," I hear Edward say. Cracking open a single eye I watch with caution as Edward simply strides with purpose past me, his robe billowing out behind him, to the ghost. That otherworldly smell – an incredible, intense aroma that sometimes emits from him, especially around other ghosts – drifts past at the same time he does.

I don't turn to see what he's doing – I don't _want_ to – but I know it's gone when the warmth of the area returns, despite the heavy rain.

Breathing a long sigh of relief I turn back to focus on the funeral. It seems I've missed the first few minutes as the pastor speaking is in the middle of the opening part of the eulogy. He's a short, round man who has trouble breathing while speaking so I take the few seconds of silence in his speech to calm my own breathing and racing heart.

"Was that a hymn?" Jacob says softly when the pastor pauses. "It sounded nice."

I nod silently, my cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. I hope I didn't disturb anyone else with my humming.

The rest of the funeral passes quickly and quietly. Thankfully, Jacob keeps his arm around me the whole time and I suspect it's as much for his own comfort as it is for mine. Him and Leah were as close as siblings.

"Now, I believe Isabella Swan has a few words to say?" the funeral director says looking out at the crowd.

I catch his eye and minutely shake my head, clutching at the paper in my coat pocket. I wrote down everything I wanted to say about Leah yesterday but now that I'm standing here I know I won't be able to pass the words out over the lump in my throat. There are too many people. I can barely breathe as it is after the unexpected ghost appearance.

Ashamed of myself for my lack of involvement while the director calls upon others – all of whom give moving speeches – I settle for saying a few silent prayers into the rosary around my wrist. I turn to leave when they begin lowering the coffin into the ground, unable to witness my best friend being laid to rest.

Unable to stay to watch dirt being piled on top of her final resting place. I'm not that strong. I'm not strong in the slightest.

"You should stay," I say to Jacob before leaving. "I have to leave, though. I can't stand another minute."

"Okay," he whispers, his voice thick with tears, "I'm going to stay for the repass after. Is it okay if I come around to yours when it's finished?"

I nod quickly. As much as I want to be by myself and just weep and weep I know he needs me. We need each other. I've never experienced such a loss before but I know it's normal for most people to stay close to their loved ones during a tragedy and I would never turn away the man I deeply care for during such a time.

My tears dry as I move towards my shabby, little truck. The orange, rusted exterior of it made for a cheap sale but it drives fine, which is all I need. The biggest selling point was just how little fuel it took considering its old age. I just can't afford to waste the few dollars I make _at_ my job on the fuel I need to drive _to_ my job.

Edward doesn't make his re-appearance until I'm halfway down the highway, doing well over 90 km/h in the pouring rain.

"Father above! Do you _want_ me to have an accident, Edward?" I bite out in surprise when I notice his, again, half-naked body in my passenger seat. He's sitting with one boot perched up on the dashboard, his tall frame unable to fit gracefully in my truck's small interior. "As far as we know I'm the only one you can speak with. If you want your silence back you can simply avoid me rather than give me a heart attack at this speed."

"I do not want that."

"Then what do you want? I'm guessing it's not a shirt or a joy ride."

He doesn't answer and when I take a cautious glance towards him I see his eyebrows are furrowed together in thought.

"You didn't leave your friend any mourning goods."

Not what I'm expecting, my mouth drops open in surprise. "Mourning goods? I don't know what that- do you mean flowers? Look, I'll go back tomorrow morning and put some there. I just... can't right now."

"There's no need," he replies, leaning his head back with closed eyes in a picture of relaxation. "I've taken care of it."

"What do you mean you've taken care of it? You didn't do something to her coffin, did you?"

"Yes. I placed jewellery of the finest gold inside of it."

"That's..." Unnecessary in this age? "... really thoughtful. Thank you. She did love her gold trinkets."

"She was a good woman, your Leah."

"Yeah." I will my tears not to come back. She really was a good woman. Was.

My first friend out of Fair Lady's school for troubled girls. We had hit it off during my first year at university and she quickly became my best friend – whether she wanted that title or not. I had lived a very sheltered life, I still do, and she showed me how fun and wonderful things could be when you let go and give them a chance.

Now there will be no more late night texts to go new places at odd hours, or horror movie marathons that make me squeal in fright while she bounces on the couch next to me in excitement. I want to blame Edward for all of it, but I know that's not fair.

None of this is _fair_.

We sit in silence as I wipe my sleeve against my eyes and speed up, eager to get home and spend at least an hour in solitude before Jacob arrives. The houses and areas I pass slowly begin to become more and more decrepit and broken-down the closer I get to my house.

When I arrive home, to my tiny one bedroom house with no backyard, I potter around the front door for a few seconds, scared of what I might find inside.

It was less than a week ago that Leah had been killed in a home invasion gone wrong and before then it had never occurred to me that such violence could happen in what was supposed to be a safe place. Dying in your own home?

I spent so much of my life at Fair Lady's Catholic boarding school that it's easy to forget a home is simply a building. Easily entered. Easily destroyed. Spending over a decade of sleeping in the same place as hundreds of other girls made me feel safe. Now it's just me, alone in a tiny house with Death as company. He makes a good watchdog, though.

"There is no-one inside, Bella," Edward says knowingly at my back. I open the door and he nudges me through. Sometimes I think he enjoys poking and prodding me simply because he can – he would go straight through any other mortal, taking their soul with them as he passes.

"I know," I mutter in embarrassment, "I was just finding the right key."

He barks out a laugh while making himself comfortable inside, lounging out on my small sofa. It would look funny, a six-foot-two man trying to fit comfortably on furniture barely large enough for a teenager, if he didn't look so unbelievably handsome doing so. I try to keep my heart rate at a steady pace, knowing this isn't simply a man, but Death incarnate. It doesn't matter how good his bronze, wavy hair looks against my furniture, or how safe I feel wrapped in his strong, scarred arms, because he isn't human. I need to learn to feel safe on my own.

I try not to spend too long looking at him as he always gets so smug when he catches me, although I'm usually just in awe that I can see Death and can't quite believe it.

I spend the next twenty minutes cleaning the place up in preparation for Jacob before moving into the kitchen to prepare something light to eat. I've eaten nothing since yesterday morning, unable to keep down anything solid in my stomach knowing I was about to attend a funeral.

"Do you want something to eat?" I ask aloud, knowing the answer is, of course, _no_. However, it was a strict part of my upbringing to never eat without offering your guest something, and it amuses me to watch him try the few times he agrees.

He's able to pick up the food and put it in his mouth, but once his hand releases, it simply drops through his body to the floor. Watching him drink is even better. I haven't figured out why he's able to interact with other objects if he chooses to but I don't waste sleep over trying to work it out.

"Marmite."

I glare down at the stale cracker in my hand, silently cursing every person who made the quip to me in Edward's presence. My parents moved to England for a year when I was six, trying to find a suitable school for mentally disturbed children. When it didn't work out they moved back home to Arizona while I was shipped off to a boarding school in Forks. Unfortunately, I never quite lost the barely noticeable lilt of my English accent.

"Very funny," I say, watching him try to hide his smile behind a large hand. His sharp, squared jawline is hidden behind a light beard – not quite stubble but not quite thick enough to hide his creamy skin underneath. "You get nothing, then, since we're all out of Marmite."

"'Tis a shame," he mutters before vanishing off the couch in the blink of an eye. Moments later he appears at my side behind the counter, holding a jar of the spread in his hand. I take it from his outstretched hands with a breathy laugh. A simple illusion, my butt.

"Or not. Guess we're having sandwiches. That is if I have any bread."

The sound of a knock – loud and sharp – cuts through whatever Edward was going to say. I smooth down my thick hair out of instinct, taking a few steps towards the door when I see Edward, again, has already shifted there.

"I'll get it," he exclaims, wrenching it open with more strength than is necessary.

Jacob's standing behind it, holding a fist up and looking as surprised as I feel.

"You really need better security if a small knock can open your door like this," he says, glancing at the hinges on my door, his eyes seeing through Edward's body. "I could have been anybody."

"Yet it's always him," Edward says, throwing a dark smile to me over his shoulder. It's times like these I'm glad no-one else can see him.

I make a noncommittal sound aimed at both of them. My heart is pounding frantically inside my chest. I don't like having Edward so close to Jacob – one wrong, sudden move and he'll be gone. Just like Leah.

"Can I come in?" Jacob asks politely. "I decided to skip the repass. I thought you might need me more."

I glance up at Edward, willing with all my might to make him disappear. To give me this time alone with Jacob so I don't have a heart attack at their proximity.

He must understand what I'm trying to do because his smug smile disappears for a second before it comes back in full force. He rolls his neck to either side with ease, stretching out the taut muscles in them – not that they would need to be stretched at all.

"Of course," I answer, gesturing with a hand for Jacob to come in, "I was just about to make sandwiches."

He steps forward, half a second away from colliding into Edward. My breath catches in my throat, my hand stretching out in instinct, in an attempt to do something, _anything_ to stop them from touching.

My worries are all for naught though, as Edward simply frowns at me, throws a look of dark loathing at Jacob and vanishes before my eyes. I calm my racing heart with a few deep breaths.

 _God._ That man is going to kill me one day.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. I'd love to get your feedback - especially if anything's confusing for readers. Like I mentioned it's been on my computer for so long it's hard to read it with fresh eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Can I take your coat?" I ask Jacob as he enters, desperate to do something with my hands to stop them from shaking. I've never known Edward to take someone before their supposed time but the idea he can still scares me.

He gives me a soft smile, shrugging the heavy woollen coat off himself. "That'd be great, thanks."

I take it from him gently to hang up on the clothes horse to dry. He stands in the middle of my small lounge room, wringing the remaining drops of moisture from his hair. I don't apologise for the cramped conditions even though I want to – I did enough of that the first time he came here.

"I'll pass on the sandwiches if that's all right. I'm not too hungry." Taking a seat on my dingy couch he puts his head in his hands and rubs his temples.

Immediately I go to sit beside him, but I'm not quite sure how to comfort him. Do I hug him? Hold his hand? I've never had an experience where I needed to comfort another person. Not once in my life. Not even for a break up or stubbed toe.

If I ever needed comfort myself growing up, Edward would simply pat my head awkwardly, unsure about how to help besides asking if I wanted him to kill those who made me feel that way.

I settle for light, soothing strokes along Jacob's back and skip the death threats.

"Tell me about Leah," he whispers, his mouth muffled by his palms. "I knew her longer but you two shared something I didn't."

"I don't know if that's true." They were practically brother and sister.

"It is." He brings his head up long enough to pull me into his side and I lean my head against him, tucking my cold feet under my legs. "She was always talking about you. Must be a girl thing."

She was always talking about me? It's an odd thought considering Leah wasn't the type to gossip. Well, not usually. She did go on about the "handsome, nouveau riche, and _completely_ single Jacob Black" for quite a while when she was having fun playing matchmaker – a role she seemed to detest as much as she enjoyed.

"Was she only talking about me when she was trying to get us together? Because that's nearly the only time your name was brought up." I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. How awful that must've sounded.

Jacob merely shrugs. "Not really. She was interested in how things were going between us a lot. Wanted to know if I was hurting or taking advantage of her friend because you're, you know, rather delicate. Sorry."

I wave off his apology. "She was always looking out for me; even on the first day we met. She was so caring. It shouldn't have ended like this for her."

"I know," he whispers, placing a soft kiss on my hairline. We fall into a comfortable silence and I think I can be lulled to sleep simply from Jacob's unusually hot body heat and soft hands rubbing against me. My eyes close and I recline further into the softness of the cushions.

They're soft. Too soft. Without any support for my body I sink into their depths until I hit metal springs.

"What happened the first day you two met? I don't think I've heard this one," he says faintly.

The memory of Leah and I walking around the university campus comes instantly to my mind. She had the look of a model; tall and slim, and she always knew how to show that off in even the most modest of clothing. Needless to say, most men would give a double take when she walked passed, although to my amusement she would glare right back until they turned away.

"It was our first year at Forks University and we were in one of the same classes: Ancient Practitioners of Science. We were put into groups of three to discuss the medical techniques of the Middle Ages and the other guy in our group, Mike I think, had immediately launched into a blown out speech about how Christianity and religion completely ruined any medical advances we could have had because of their anti-science views.

"I stayed silent while Leah and Mike debated even though I actually agreed with him on that point. I think Leah just liked to debate - to play the Devil's advocate. A few minutes later he seemed to be getting really worked up about it so I mentioned how it was mostly just Europe who weren't advancing. That the East and herbalism, for example, were going along fine and that herbalism was a really important branch of medicine."

I try to put on a low-sounding voice to imitate Mike. " 'You actually think herbalism has any value at all for modern medicine?' he yelled, getting in my face. He called me a stupid hippie and that if I really thought that–" I break off from my story, too embarrassed to continue.

Jacob takes in my flushing face with a frown. "What did he say?" he asks darkly.

I shake my head. He doesn't need to know about how Mike thought the only way I could ever make it in life is on my knees or my back because I'm too stupid to use my brain.

"He was just rude. It doesn't matter. The point was that afterwards Leah slapped him right off his chair while calling him a disgusting pig. She was the one who ended up in trouble for it, and I apologised to her over and over, in between my 'thank you's, even after she said it was fine for what must have been the tenth time. I knew I was being annoying but I couldn't help it; no-one had ever stood up for me."

No living person anyway. Edward, who was standing next to me at the time and thoroughly interested in the debate at the time, tried to walk right through Mike. He almost made it too, until I shoved him out of the way, while pretending to be stretching a sore muscle.

I laugh. " 'Stop thanking me and stop apologising!' Leah kept saying. Eventually I think she got so irritated that she told me she could forgive me absolutely if I went with her to a bar and paid for her drinks."

"Did you?"

"Yeah," I laugh. "It was one of the best nights of my life. I've heard of bars being seedy places where sleazy men try to flirt with you all the time but they didn't; this one had a nice atmosphere and everyone was so friendly. One of the girls there even complimented my dress in the bathroom and the dress was hideous! It was a potato sack. I looked Amish compared to these girls."

"Probably." Jacob cracks a smile, "But I bet you were the most beautiful Amish looking girl there."

"No," I giggle into his neck to hide my blush. "You have to say that though."

"It's true. I love your old-fashioned Amish outfits. Your skirts always go to the floor and they whoosh around like a ball gown. It's sexy. Or those old mom jeans you wear with sneakers." He pushes me onto my back and arranges himself above me while being careful not to squish me with his weight. He leans in close enough that his black hair tickles my collarbone.

"I'll beat him up if I ever meet him," he whispers before kissing my exposed, arching neck.

"Who?" I breathe out huskily. My neck is my favourite place to be kissed and feeling Jacob's warm lips over the sensitive flesh makes it hard to concentrate. I press up into him, resisting the urge to wrap my legs around his torso and hold him there.

I try not to close my eyes. It always ruins the mood when Edward's face appears in my head while Jacob's the one touching me, and it's been happening far too frequently lately, which is strange.

"This Mike guy. You're not the sort of girl that should be talked to like that."

"No girl should be talked to like that," I reply, ignoring the first part. It's easier to pretend the man kissing me so softly isn't capable of violence. Even if it's warranted.

Jacob pulls himself off me and rolls onto his side to lean up against the couch's edge. The surface of it is too small for both of us to fit comfortably so I sit up, intending to give him more space but he simply tugs me back down and encloses me in his grip.

"Hm. This is nice," he murmurs. It really is; I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against me and the soft strokes of his fingers against my arm is soothing. It's so relaxing that after a few minutes of it I feel that I can sleep deeply right here in his arms.

Jacob must feel the same way because he breathes, "I love you," a few minutes later as he closes his eyes.

I don't reply.

* * *

I think I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know I'm being lightly shaken and there's an eerie darkness around the house. One light is usually left on even while I'm asleep – I hate the dark too much.

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you but my arm was going numb."

With a groan I open my eyes. Sometime during my nap I must've turned around because I'm facing Jacob, who's wearing a satisfied grin that's obvious even in the dim lighting. I sit up and clumsily make my way to the lights on the other side of the room. I _really_ hated the dark.

"No, I'm sorry. That must've hurt. When did I fall asleep? You should have woken me up earlier."

"I thought about it but you were so cute curled up on my chest," Jacob says. "Plus it was the only time I could run my fingers through your hair without you slapping my hand away. I've told you how much I love your hair, right?"

He has. Numerous times, and yet every time he says it my heart thumps as though it's the first compliment he's ever given me. Spending my life in an all girls school has left me more than a little overwhelmed with male attention.

"How did I ever get so lucky?" he asks huskily.

"A pale, brown-eyed brunette. Yep, you've hit the jackpot," I laugh with a little tired self-derision, trying to cover my embarrassment with a smile and sarcasm. Is this room always so hot?

"I know." He hops off the couch to move towards me to envelop me in a strong hug. It seems this whole day has been spent nestled in his side. Not that I'm complaining.

I settle into the embrace with a content sigh. He may not have the strong build of Edward, or his height, but Jacob's hugs are just as comforting.

I don't pull away until I feel a wetness begin to spread on my belly.

"What on Earth?" Placing my hand against my stomach I can feel a wet, sticky substance and pulling back I can see a damp patch is also on Jacob's shirt. I touch his shirt lightly, curious as to what it is.

"Oh, yeah," he laughs heartily, the shadows under his eyes disappearing for a few seconds. "You're a drooler."

He pulls the bottom of his shirt up, enough to expose his lean physique with a streak of black hair travelling from his navel into his dark slacks, and places the drool soaked part of his shirt into his mouth.

And then he sucks. Hard.

"Tastes like you. Delicious."

The sound that comes out of my mouth is almost as mortifying as the drool on my boyfriend's shirt: a high pitched squeal not unlike that of a piglet. "That's so _gross_!"

Jacob laughs harder and picks me up by the waist to lift me in the air.

"What was that sound? Make it again." He's jiggling me a little in the air and a few small squeaks do leave my unwilling lips between laughter. "There it is!"

"Jacob! Put me down!" I laugh. My sides are aching from my squirming and laughter by the time he sets me gently on my feet.

As he steadies me I look up, about to tell him playfully to never mention my squeals or that I drool, when his stare takes all coherent thoughts out of my mind. His lips are pulled into a genuine smile but his eyes are piercing; an intense sort of stare that seems to reach into my very being. There's untamed, pure desire in them.

For the first time in a very long time I feel weary and nervous around Jacob. He knows I'm a virgin, waiting until I'm married as my strict upbringing dictates, but that doesn't mean he is. He wasn't brought up under old, strict Catholic nuns that thought lust was a demon. I was.

"Would it be presumptuous to ask if you're staying the night?" I say with as much calm as I can muster.

The sight of his own blush and gaping mouth quiets the pounding of my heart. This man would never hurt me or pressure me into doing things I wasn't yet comfortable with. I know that deep down, even if I need to say it a few times in my head every now and then to be sure.

"I– Well, I didn't want you to think I was… but if you're okay with it? I can take the couch. You wouldn't even know I'm here," he stutters out. Two minutes ago he was sucking my own drool into his mouth with the arrogance of an experienced frat boy and now is blushing like a shy school boy. It's reassuring that he is only human after all.

 _And that's what you want,_ I tell myself over and over. _Nice and human._

"Don't be silly, you can take the bed," I say with a wave of my hand. "They're both equally uncomfortable and it would make me feel like a better hostess if you did."

"All right, if you're sure," he says wearily, but doesn't put up a fight over it. When I simply nod he relaxes and takes out his phone.

"I've got my appetite back after that sleep. Are you cool with pizza for dinner? My treat, of course."

I give him a smile and another nod before I head to my bedroom while he orders.

My room is spotless, thanks in part to my earlier cleaning but also to the fact I hardly own anything so there's never a mess. Jumping face first onto my bed I inhale my pillows to make sure they're fresh and appropriately fluffy.

It must be the stress of the day or my exhaustion still because the bed feels almost good. It would be so easy to ask him to share it with me tonight but I can't. It wouldn't be fair to 'tempt his lustful beast' as Sister Mary used to call it.

' _Now girls,'_ she'd say before cracking down her cane on a nearby desk, ' _it's important to remember that once you're out in the real world you'll be approached by all kinds of life. Heathens or those who sin for fun. I highly recommend you join the nearest church community and settle down with a Godly man. One who can curb his lustful demons you may invoke through will power. When you meet this man you can be assured in his strength and faith to lead you.'_

I didn't think it was very fair that I was going to be blamed for my husband's desires but there was no arguing with the Sister. She was old enough to be heavily in favour of corporal punishment and we were young enough that we still feared our elders. I still fear her and her cane even now.

"Has he left yet?"

I groan as Edward's weight dips the bed. Even if he didn't say a word I'd be able to feel the dark power rolling off him in waves. His presence is hard to ignore.

"Bella?" His hand pushes my head to the side and my eyes snap open to glare at him.

"You know he hasn't left yet," I whisper harshly, pushing his hand out of my general vicinity and placing my face back down into the bed. "You promised you wouldn't be here while I had him over anymore."

"I am growing tired of waiting for the mortal to leave."

I groan again. "Why don't _you_ leave? In fact, I distinctly remember that you left for over a year when I was ten."

"You were an annoying ten year old. I enjoyed the quiet."

"Then for weeks at a time when I was a teenager. Why are you always hovering around me now that I'm trying to get my life in order?"

He pauses for a moment. "You are less annoying now, and I do not enjoy the quiet so much anymore."

I make a muffled 'mhm' sound against the linen.

"Get rid of him."

"You've been saying that for ten months now. I'm not going to get rid of him. In fact," I say rather smugly, "he'll be staying the night with me."

Instantly I know those are the wrong words to use as Edward slowly stands. I turn and sit up to watch him stride out of the room, a billowing darkness covering his form like a blanket.

Leaping off the bed as quickly as possible I race into the kitchen to find Edward is already face-to-face with Jacob. He seems to be studying him with intensity, his eyes skimming over Jacob in his entirety.

Jacob, who's completely oblivious to Death standing not one foot away, is busy finding a cup and saucer for his coffee. As he fumbles around my drawers for something I can see Edward has become fixated on the sharp knives arranged in a row on my kitchen bench.

"Jacob," I whisper urgently. "Can you come here?"

"Just a sec, babe. Do you have a strainer?"

Edward's hand hovers over the butcher knife. "What is it about the boy that has you so attached to him? How is he any different from the countless others who have come and gone by my hand? I wonder… will you hate me when I'm forced to take his life?"

" _Jacob!"_ I yell this time in complete panic, unsure about Edward's intentions. He wouldn't need a knife to kill.

This gets Jacob's attention who's by my side in a second flat. "Bella, what is it? You've gone deathly white."

I don't even have time to laugh at the irony before I grab Jacob and position myself around him. Placing my body directly in between Edward and his, as if that could solve anything. I don't trust Edward. Hell, I don't even trust myself or my own mental state at the best of times.

"I just…" I stutter. "I'm sorry, I just had a freak out and needed you."

"It's okay. I've got you, babe." Silence lingers between us. "Do you want me to go?"

 _Yes._

"No. Please stay. I'm -" I look to where Edward was to find he's already disappeared again. "I'm okay now."

Jacob looks worried but doesn't say anything about it. He simply places a hand on my lower back and directs me towards the sofa; coffee forgotten.

"Okay, well I just finished ordering. Do you want to watch some TV with me until it arrives?"

"Yeah." I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. "As long as it's something funny." We settle back into our position on the couch and my heart eases up on the tight grip it currently has. A comedy will be a good way of getting my mind off Edward for a little while – I hope. I can put up with any crude humour that passes for comedy, for that small bit of reprieve.

I watch in shame as Jacob tries to adjust the old television's reception to give us anything except static. I have almost no money to my name so buying luxuries, like a working TV, is a waste of precious pay. While I know I can ask Jacob for anything – which he often insisted I do – I made a promise to myself to never rely on another person if I can go without.

And I can go without this.

I've learnt there's a lot I can go without.

"At least now I know what I'm getting you for your birthday," he says in frustration as a news channel tries to flicker to life behind the white noise.

"I don't want anything for my birthday," I say as seriously as I can. Coming from a poor family growing up, and then making millions with his talented mind, Jacob's gifts are always too lavish and I can't help but feel inadequate and somewhat pathetic when I give him my handmade gifts or plants grown in my flowerbed. "Would it be too corny to say I only want to spend the day with you?"

"Very corny."

I smile. "It's not for another four months anyway."

The rest of the night pass quietly as we eat pizza and watch the news channel. Judging by the look on Jacob's face I can tell he's more than a little bored but to me it's the perfect date. Absolutely perfect now that Edward has definitely disappeared off the radar. The rain has slowed down into a light trickle and I'm curled up on a overly plush couch eating – what I've come to realise after leaving Fair Lady's – my favourite food in the world.

I'm perfectly content for the first time in a week.

Jacob gives a dramatic yawn and stretch when the clock strikes ten. "You still okay with me taking the bed?"

I nod. "Of course."

"Then if it's okay I think I'll head off. It's been a long day. Night, beautiful," he says, pressing a kiss onto my hairline before making his way into my bedroom.

My bedroom. My boyfriend is going to be sleeping in my bed. On my pillows and under my sheets.

 _If I sleep there tomorrow night I wonder if I'll be able to smell him, or smell_ like _him,_ I think with a blush.

I settle back into the plush yet uncomfortable couch and draw the flimsy blanket up around me. My mind begins to wander to the view I might walk in on if Jacob sleeps nude, but I push the thought away as quickly as it comes. He's not the type to do that at someone else's house, but perhaps if we were living together…

With a groan I pull the blanket up over my head in an attempt to drown out my perverted thoughts, and to ignore the black silhouette watching me.

* * *

It's either the incredible smell that wakes me, or the melodic humming coming from the kitchen.

"Good morning," Jacob calls out. My house is small enough that I can be anywhere in it and would still be able to hear mild chatter. Mild whispers, even.

"Morning," I reply groggily. "What time is it?"

"A little past six. I wasn't sure what time you had to be up but I have to go into work today."

Thankfully I don't have to go to the sporting goods store for work for another week; I'm not sure I could manage holding a forced smile for rude customers for more than an hour. What's more, I don't think I could put up with the blatantly sexist and racist remarks from my boss, Mark, for more than a minute.

"I took two weeks off work, so I guess I don't have a time to be up," I say, straightening my long, black dress. I forgot to change out of my funeral clothes last night and I'm more than a little hesitant to see how my unwashed makeup fared during the night.

Jacob brings a plate of bacon and eggs to me before I can make a quick escape to the bathroom. After a subtle swipe under my eyes and a few pats to my cheeks for colour I take the dish from him with a grateful smile.

"Thanks, you really didn't have to do this," I tell him earnestly. I raise a large mouthful of the delicious smelling eggs to my mouth and almost immediately bring the back of my hand up to cover my lips the second they hit my tongue.

My gag reflex tightens my throat as my stomach heaves from the taste before slacking just enough to get the eggs down. How could something that smells so good taste so revolting?

"Too much pepper?" Jacob asks in concern. I shake my head mutely.

"Where did you get the ingredients?" My eyes are watering heavily in the effort to not cough.

Please, let him have gone to one of the 24/7 convenience stores this morning. Or maybe the eggs aren't from a chicken at all. Maybe the dish is a rich person's delicacy where they use the eggs of an expensive, exotic animal.

"I found them in your fridge. You didn't have any butter so it was just eggs, cream, bacon, and some black pepper. I'll repay you back for the cost of them of course."

Glancing towards the kitchen bench in horror I see the small, generic-brand, unlabelled carton Jacob thought was cream is actually the milk I'd bought weeks ago and never chucked out. I don't even _remember_ the last time I bought eggs. My fridge has been relatively untouched for a good month as I've been slowly going through my soup can and noodles collection in the pantry instead. Soup was nearly always on sale, didn't spoil, and was almost as filling as a hearty loaf of grain bread.

I rest my hand on his as he lifts his own fork. "Don't. My food is off."

He makes a sound of revulsion low in his throat before snatching up my fork to take a bite. "Are you sure? I might not have cooked it right. I couldn't get the hang of your kitchen, it's so old."

I don't let him taste it. "I'm sure. I'm sorry, I didn't even think to buy fresh food lately. The bacon might still be good. How long does meat last?"

Jacob's eyes roam over my body where they linger on my shoulders and collarbones. They feel even more hollow and bird-like now that I can feel his gaze on them. I wrap my arms around myself insecurely to hide my frame.

"That's fine," he says with a grimace. "I should've asked. I thought it'd be a nice thing to wake up to."

"It was and it smelled delicious. Maybe you should grab something before work?" I'm completely embarrassed once again by my lack of domestic skills, as unreasonable as that is. Forgetting to buy groceries can happen to anyone. Right?

"That might be a good idea," he mutters, leaning down to kiss me quickly and return the plates to the kitchen bench. He scraps the expired food into the bin and washes down the dishes with a soft sigh. "I don't like leaving you here alone, Bella."

I'd rather not be here alone either. Usually I prefer solitude - Edward notwithstanding - but having Jacob here, even for a short amount of time, has been immensely comforting. Having a regular human at all here is comforting; it makes me feel much more sane when I'm speaking to someone I know for sure exists.

"Don't be silly, you need to go to work. I'll be fine here."

"You don't even have any food," he retorts. "Come with me to my work."

The pros and cons of the suggestion flitter through my mind quickly. While I'd be able to spend the day with him I'd either be in the way of his work, or be seen as the ditzy girl hanging around the lab waiting for a chance to speak with her boyfriend. Both options sound terrible.

Jacob's work at the University's laboratories is too important to interrupt. He's only twenty-five but his incredibly brilliant mind saw him get his degree _and_ PhD by twenty-three; now, only two years later, he's working with the state's best, if not the country's best, to help research and advance our modern knowledge of medicine and science.

"Have you showered?" I ask, ignoring his offer completely. His rumpled clothing, which, like mine, has not been changed since yesterday, along with his messy hair let me know the answer before he does.

"Not yet. I was going to go home first to change; that's why I better leave quick," he says, putting on his dress shoes at the door. "I take it that's a 'no' to coming with me today? Free food. Lots of books. Free food. It's a good offer."

I shake my head and hand him his heavy coat. "I'll pass. Sorry."

"Leah was right, you do say sorry a lot," he grins before frowning. "It's okay, I think I'm just nervous because I really hate this neighbourhood. It's like terra nullius. It's dangerous. The offer to come live with me still stands."

"You better go check on your Ferrari then," I say half-jokingly. "Someone might have stolen it. There are no laws here; terra nullius and all that."

"It's a Porsche," he mutters before wrenching open the door and flying down the steps to inspect his car.

Luckily the black, shining heap is still there in one piece. I wasn't actually sure it would be. There's no wheels missing from what I can see and the windows aren't smashed. If I was a betting person I'd wager that whole thing is worth more than every single possession I own combined.

"Have a good day!" I yell out. He throws a curt wave and jumps in his car.

I wait until he's driving far down the road before I close the door and lean against it with a heavy sigh. Not even awake for an hour and I'm already tired.

I head towards my bathroom with eager steps, wishing to get clean as quickly as possible. Turning the nozzle of the shower to maximum heat I wait until the small, tiled room fills with a sticky, heavy steam before shedding my clothes. The steam helps hide my body; a habit picked up from sharing a bathroom with a lot of other girls for so long.

Tentatively I step inside the cubicle, trying to not wince as the hot water scalds my skin. It was how we were told to bathe at Fair Lady's: the hotter the water, the cleaner the person. It may not be true – in fact, I'm almost sure it's not – but the roasting heat never fails to wake me up.

Eventually my body gets used to the scorching temperature and I sink to the floor to sit. I really don't want to leave this warmth to face the world, knowing it's continuing on exactly as it was, with or without Leah, but as the minutes tick on the thought of my future water bill is enough to make me drag myself out.

I head over to the sink and mirror, which is completely fogged up from the steam, and run a wet hand over it to clear it up and study my reflection. My hair is darkened from the water and hangs limply halfway down my back. There's a dark, bruised look under my eyes possibly from fatigue and stress that seems to take up most of the room on my face.

I've been told by multiple people that my eyes were "doe-like" and too big for my face – an insult said in the tone of a compliment – so the shadows under them only accentuate that fact.

Heaving a sigh I begin poking and prodding my cheeks to mould my face into a more oval shape, rather than the heart one I was born with, to make it more conventionally attractive. After a few seconds I stop. The flesh never stays in the spot I put it and vanity is a sin, according to the nuns.

"I look like death warmed over," I murmur, reaching for my towel.

"You're not nearly as handsome."

With a squeak I turn sharply. The wet tiles make it too hard to catch my balance and with flailing arms my legs slide under me and I fall heavily towards the floor. Faster than I can follow, Edward's hand shoots out and catches me around my torso. My body is lying against him on an angle that's too steep for my feet to get a proper grip, inches away from the floor.

"Oh," I whisper, my heart beating frantically in my chest from the near fall. "Thanks, Edward."

"My _pleasure_ ," he croons with an appreciative glance over me.

Looking down with a sinking feeling, I realise I'm completely nude. Edward's taut arm is curled around my midsection, hovering dangerously close to my breasts.

"Get off!" I scream mortified. "Let me go!"

He does as I command instantly and his large arm slips away from my back. My head knocks against the wet floor tiles on impact. Dizzily, I grab the fallen towel a foot away and wrap it around myself. There's a sharp throbbing in my head that I ignore while I orient myself.

Edward makes no motion to help me up while I get to my knees and shakily to my feet.

"You dropped me," I say in disbelief. I rub the back of my aching skull the make sure everything is as it's supposed to be. There's no obvious bumps or swelling so I let it be. "You jerk!"

He shrugs. "You asked me to."

"Face the wall, pervert."

Edward does what I ask with a laugh and slight shake of his head. "It is nothing I have not seen before. You used to throw your shirts at the nuns when they started making you wear a training bra."

I chuck a bar of unused soap at the back of his head. A wave of smug satisfaction washes over me when it makes contact with a solid thud. Nothing physical can hurt him, and he had even begun insisting I take any violent impulses I have out on him when I get them. Luckily for him I get them next to never.

"You've seen me before on accident, and I hadn't even hit puberty at that time so it wasn't that indecent."

"On accident? Does this mean you called to me on purpose today? If that is the case I would have been far more reluctant in letting you go."

I gape at him, my mouth doing an impression of a fish out of water before I stutter, "N-No! You know I didn't! I don't ever call you Death anymore, you pervert. Maybe I should call you Tom instead; short for peeping Tom."

Pressing the towel against my body as tightly as possible I squirm out of the bathroom door into the cooling air. I make a quick dash to my bedroom and pat myself dry before throwing on the first thing I see: an old, blue summer dress. It falls to my knees and is fraying around the hem but it covers up the parts it needs to.

Now that my embarrassment is under control there's only frustration left. I wring as much moisture out of my hair as I can and call out to Edward.

"Edward? Or Peeping _Tom_ rather, we need to talk."

He rounds the corner, walking in my direction while still facing the wall. Despite my mood my lips twitch softly in an effort to not smile. It's adorable but I'm not about to let him know that.

"You sound serious. Are you breaking up with me? I hear this is how humans do that."

Break up with him? I was merely going to give him an earful about boundaries, and throw in a few punches after my near heart attack because of his possible knife play with Jacob last night, but maybe I should 'break up' with him. Things are going well with Jacob and I don't like the idea of the two of them hanging around each other.

And I know there's a time in the future when I'll want to settle down and Edward isn't going to fit into that picture. If I'm going to have children there's no way I'll let Death hover around them, or around my unsuspecting husband. It wouldn't be fair to them either to have a crazy mother who sees things they can't... unless my problems are hereditary.

I pray they're not.

"Maybe," I shrug. This gets his attention and he faces me with a dark expression. "Things are getting serious with Jacob. I don't know if we should keep doing… whatever it is we're doing. What you did last night was unforgivable."

"We are not doing anything," he bites out. "I would know if we were. I have kept my distance from you while you were with that boy. I was merely curious about him last night and wanted to see what has taken so much of your attentions."

"You saw me _naked,_ " I whisper, afraid that somehow someone will overhear if I talk any louder. "You practically threatened Jacob's _life._ Plus I'm trying to be honest with my boyfriend. How am I supposed to do that if I can't explain how another man – how _you've_ seen me without my clothes? It's dishonest. I don't want to be dishonest with him."

"I did not threaten his life at all. Like I said, I was curious. You are special, I wanted to see what made him special, and you may tell him about me if it worries you. You are the first mortal I've met that I've been able to talk with; who can see me without needing their soul taken a moment later. I am not going to give that up. Not for some short, weak _boy_."

"That _boy_ cares about me," I argue hotly. "Much more than you possibly could. You're not even human."

He draws himself up tall and I back up a little in fear. I'm not afraid of him so much as I am the raw power he exudes. The abilities he controls. Standing in a power stance he folds his arms over his wide, bare chest and I see his muscles ripple with tension. He can break my neck with a single hand if he wants to.

"No, I am not human. You would do well to remember that."

"Remember it? It's all I can think about when I talk to you! Whether someone can hear me arguing with myself if I don't remember to be quiet, whether they might alert someone and I'll be taken to a real psych ward. I'm not a child, there's no boarding school for me to go to any more."

He seems to size me up. "You're scared."

I nod slowly. Of course I'm scared.

"Of being sent away and losing the boy."

"Yeah," I whisper. There's a lot more than that I'm scared of but I don't want to voice my fears to him. He has a tendency to use my own words against me.

Edward shrugs nonchalantly. "If they try to lock you up then I will walk through them and release you."

I gasp loudly and place a hand over my chest in a similar manner to Sister Mary when we were caught swearing. A little melodramatic. "You can't do that!"

"You will find that I can," he says with a frown. I get the distinct feeling he's disappointed in me. For what I have no idea.

"You can't kill someone before their time, I mean."

"I can if I let someone else live longer than they are supposed to. Perhaps a coma patient will simply remain in a coma. Perhaps a cancer patient will be miraculously cured. Objecting to me taking a life means you are happy condemning another. As long as the tally of life and death is balanced there is no problem. I will take who I desire."

If the thoughtful expression on his face is any indication then he genuinely believes what he's saying. Has there been many lives taken before they were supposed to? Is he trying to justify his actions?

He's all brawn and no brain. Or rather, all brawn and no moral code because he's definitely _too_ smart at times.

Throwing my hands up in exasperation I leave him to his ramblings and head into my home's only spare room for some peace and quiet. Somewhere away from the thoughts of death and the thoughts of Death.

The greenroom, as I call it, is small enough to fit one single bed and a dressing table; instead, I've used the space to house all my flower pots and a long flower bed along the wall. Without a backyard to use, this room is the next best thing as it faces in the direction of the sun so there's a perfect amount of sunlight and shade for the plants.

"Hello, babies," I croon to them. I may not have a lot of valuable possessions but I do have over fifty different types of flowers thriving in this small space.

The cheap soil and potting mix I buy for them must be of a higher grade than I think as none of them have wilted or died the whole time I've nurtured them. Even the rose Jacob bought for Valentine's day is thriving despite having been cut and sold without a thought for its care by the florist.

 _The flowers are stronger than I am_ , I think with a smile.

I pick up the flower food and watering can to feed those that need it, humming while I do. If it wasn't such an expensive hobby I think I'd like to decorate my entire house in trees and plants and let them run wild. I wouldn't mind being known as the "crazy flower lady" and arriving to places smelling of fertilizer.

And what Death would think of such a thing! He despises the flowers, but secretly I think he's simply jealous I spend so much time talking with them instead of him.

The petals of a rather large daffodil I'm stroking seem to stretch out into my palm, seeking my body heat. Moving flowers never fails to shock the people who witness it, even at their extremely slow speed, but it's been happening to me for as long as I can remember. Eventually I put it down to people not taking care of, or even owning, enough flowers to see them move. It's not like they jump, after all.

"I am sure I would be labelled a hero by many humans if I kill the murderers and extend the life of the innocents."

I suppress a groan as Edward glides into my greenroom with an arrogance that both suits and doesn't suit him. He knows this is my quiet room and I know he hates it here.

"There's not enough air in here for the both of us," I say, my fingers still stroking the flower stem.

"I will hold my breath then," he replies, looking around. "They are growing well. The flowers."

He takes a survey of the room from his position at the door. There's only a single lane for one person to walk the length of the room and I'm standing directly in his way.

"They could probably use a little more space," I remark. Not to mention bigger pots and mix.

The thought suddenly strikes me that Edward has the power to bring me anything in the world, to create virtually anything out of thin air. I wouldn't need to waste so much money on flower food and soil if he brought them to me. Perhaps he could even conjure up a wad of hundred dollar notes to help me pay for a few bills.

I've never entertained the idea of such a thing before, never allowed it to become even a possibility as I'm uncomfortable relying on others. But Edward's not a person. How, in all my life, have I never asked him to just simply _bring_ things to me?

Asking him for something wouldn't put him out of pocket in the slightest.

The more I think about it the giddier I begin to feel. With an infinite supply of money I can concentrate on getting through my last few years of study without needing to spend most of my time at the sporting goods store working at minimum wage. When I get my degree and actual career going, I can start earning enough money to repay Edward – that is, if he takes some type of ghostly repayments – and not need for anything again.

It's actually possible. Who wouldn't take the chance?

"Edward," I start in an innocent tone. "You can make anything can't you? Like the way you made that Marmite jar appear out of nowhere?"

"No."

"No?" Well he wouldn't be able to make _everything,_ such as an entire solar system, but he would know I wasn't being completely literal.

"I am not going to give you a greenhouse for your flowers," he says firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"I didn't ask for a greenhouse." I cross my arms, feeling a little miffed and disheartened that he rejected my non-verbal request so quickly. "I know that'd be too big. I'd love some fresh soil and plant food, though. There's a lot of different types; you have a certain kind for the acid lovers like azaleas and there's the alkaline lovers like carnations who–"

"No."

I don't insult him by playing dumb. Of course he's entitled to say no to a request asked without question or reason; no-one is obligated to help another person just because they wish it. It doesn't stop the pangs of disappointment from coming over me though as the option of an easier life slips through my fingers before I got to grasp it.

 _Well, nothing worth having ever comes easy._

"Okay," I whisper. My fingers hover in circles around the petals of the daffodil. Watching the large flower follow my movements around cheers me up slightly.

"You do not want things handed to you like that, Bella," Edward says, his eyes following the movement of my fingers as closely as the flower. He doesn't know me as well as he assumes if that's what he thinks. I'd never turn my nose up at a gift given to me, no matter how small. "You have had that almost your whole life. Working towards a goal and earning your luxuries will be much better for you in the long run."

"Sure, Edward," I smile and wave him off. "Although I didn't have a _choice_ to earn my keep at Fair Lady's. We were too insane to be trusted with a job, but it's all right, you don't have to explain yourself to me. Besides, I'm already working the most hours I can before the next semester starts so you can cool it with the capitalism promo."

We stand in silence together for the next minute. I move away from the daffodil and begin to play with the sunflower one pot over. I'm too entranced by the odd patterns and bumps of the sunflower to notice or care about Edward's movements. This is my relaxation room, after all.

"This one is new," I hear him say from the corner. He's kneeling beside the slim vase that holds Jacob's rose. Sitting on a low table, the beautiful rose in its clear, crystal-like container, looks out of place compared to the clay pots and dirt mounds that surround it. Instead it sits on display like a prized trophy – which it is in a way.

"It's not that new. Jacob gave me it on Valentine's day. Can you believe how well it's kept? I didn't expect it to last longer than a week at most."

He grunts in reply. Bobbing on the heels of his feet he glances between me and the vase a few times before focusing directly on me. "Do you still want the soil?"

Losing all interest in the sunflower I nod quickly before he changes his mind and retracts his offer. He studies my face for a tense second and nods back in return.

Without preamble he grasps Jacob's rose tightly around its thornless stem before I have the chance to protest. It instantly wilts in his grip, its vibrantly coloured petals detach and fall to the floor in a beautiful mess. Darkness spreads out around the room when he makes his way toward me, dead flower in hand.

"For you," he says, pressing the wilted, petal-less rose into my palm. Once it leaves his hands a bag of premium quality potting mix appear in his grasp, materialising out of thin air.

I clutch the rose to my chest, as if I can shield it from what just happened, and reach out to take the soil with my other hand when Edward offers it.

"Why would you touch my rose?" I bite out bitterly. "What's your problem? It was doing so well."

"I had to make sure you understood the consequences of asking me for anything in the future. Everything on this mortal plane is made up of energy. I can neither create that, nor destroy it, but I can transfer and transform it. To get your ugly flowers some soil I needed an equivalent amount of energy, and the rose was bursting with it."

"You could have done your teleport thing and taken it from somewhere instead of killing my rose."

"Probably," he says without a care. I get the sense that he wanted to take Jacob's rose instead of doing things the easier way. Most likely to spite me for telling him to cool it. "However, that would make me a thief. Do I look like a thief to you?"

 _Absolutely._

Gently placing the new soil underneath the rose's table I make sure everything is in order before rounding on Edward. He's watching me intently, as if daring me to challenge him over his actions. He loves his fights too much and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of one. Instead, I push him out of the greenroom with a hard shove before scooping up the petals from the floor to take to the kitchen bin. What a waste.

"Don't you have people's souls to take, rather than flowers?"

"There is always a soul to be taken, Bella," he answers, following me into the kitchen. Sometimes I think he really is a lost puppy, unable to wander about without his master around.

Note to self: never ever tell him that.

He clears the bench of its messiness and leans back to take a seat on it. He doesn't even need to hop up as I do because he's so tall. "That is best left for my future self to handle."

I glance back at him quizzically. A selfish brute at times, yes, but in all my years of knowing and talking to him I've never found Edward to be a lazy man... lazy being. He's a cut-throat, straight to the point, harsh dictator that never allowed me to wallow or procrastinate tasks. Growing up he had sometimes threatened to kill the children I went to school with if I did not complete my homework on time; a ridiculous threat now as I know he would never do that, but it worked well enough when I was a girl.

Now he sounds like me a week before my final exams. Let my future self worry about it.

"Do you have something to say?" He looks at me with one heavy eyebrow raised. A challenge.

"Nope," I say, popping the 'p'. There's no way I'm going to call Death lazy to his face. I'd wake up to find a massacre had taken place somewhere in the world.

He begins rocking his feet back and forward childishly; his toes scraping along the floor tiles. The dishes from breakfast wobble dangerously next to him from where they're stacked, one on top of the other. I take the top one and clean it furiously. We fall into a rhythm of cleaning and kicking.

Eventually – when I'm on the final pan – his kicking echoing around the silent house grates on my last nerves and I blurt out something just to hear myself speak.

"It's just that people die every second," I start. "When you leave your 'job' for your future self do the people suffer while waiting for you? Do their souls come out and wander about twiddling their thumbs for a few months before you go pick them up?"

The thought fills me with guilt. How many people are out there in unnecessary pain because Edward wants to converse with someone? With me? Worse still, how many people are stuck in their deceased bodies with no way of getting out without his help?

"I have told you multiple times to not ask for answers that you don't want to know. So do not concern yourself with it. I don't think you will be able to wrap your pretty head around how I do my _job_. You were confused enough with the basic concept of needing to exchange energy for soil."

"I wasn't confused," I whisper harshly. Well, not really. I sort of understand the process in theory. "Okay, then give me the dummies version – I do want to know."

"You were never interested before," he says with a frown.

"It's not that I wasn't interested, I just never gave any thought to how it worked."

In a huff of laughter he looks me over with a critical eye. "Perhaps when you are older, or dead, I will let you know. Whichever one comes first."

"Older? I'm twenty-one years old. I'm not a child." I drop the pan and put my hands on my hips like a petulant toddler. The moment the words leave my mouth my lips twitch with suppressed laughter. I know I'm acting spoiled, Edward seems to bring out the worst in me; I'm becoming too argumentative. Sister Mary would be disappointed.

"Oh?" His head tilts down at me while he contemplates what I've said. He stops kicking his legs and disappears only to reappear behind me. Grabbing me around my midsection he leans down. "You want to know what it is I do, hm?

"First, I take their souls from their bodies. Whether willing or not. Kicking and screaming," he breathes into my neck. His fingers come around my body and dig into the space between my breasts. "Right here or through their back. Then I forcefully drag them to my world. Mortals have called it Limbo or the Underworld."

I feel the world shift and melt away in a swirl of hazy black and colours, as the kitchen blends out into complete darkness. Edward's taken us somewhere. He's taken me somewhere. Shifted us away to only God knows where. I didn't know it was even possible to shift _with_ me!

Wherever we are the air is stale and limited. I can't see. Waving my hand frantically in front of my face only shows how useless my vision is here. Panic kicks in and my breathing becomes shallow and erratic, trying to take in as much of the sparse oxygen as possible. There's not enough to inhale properly. There's not enough...

Oh, God. Are we in Limbo?

Something soft and silky rubs up against my back. I scream, clawing at Edward's arm desperately. "Take us back! Edward, I can't see! Take us back!"

"And then they will wander Oblivion until they just _can't_ any more. Until they give up. Give in," he whispers behind me.

"I can't breathe." A sharp pain shoots through my chest and for a moment I literally can't breathe. My lungs refuse to inhale even the stale air. I collapse onto Edward's forearm for support. His arm is enough to keep me up as my knees give way underneath me. A fist pushes firmly but gently into my abdomen and my mouth gapes wildly for a breath that doesn't come.

"You can breathe, Bella," he states. His grip on my torso loosens but he keeps me upright. If he lets go I don't think I could support my own weight.

"Don't let yourself panic. No harm can come to you here," he continues. His voice is soothing and melodic. "Close your eyes and imagine yourself in your room. You are relaxed. There are no predators here. There is nothing to harm you."

I ignore his words. His intentions are good, I know this, but a lot of the time he just has no idea what to say in these sort of situations. Instead, I focus on the timbre of his voice. It's deep and masculine, and soothing and pleasant all at the same time.

Steadying myself through my senses normally helps whenever I have the occasional freak out. I can still see nothing, but I can touch Edward's arm and the coarse hair on it. I can smell my soap and hear my heart thrumming. It's steady. I'm okay. I'm still alive.

No one can kill me – not even Death can do it. My fear and panic washes away for the briefest of seconds, but it's long enough to make my escape.

I push forward away from him with my hands outstretched to find something solid not one foot in front. Pushing heavily against it I'm a little more than surprised when I feel it give way under my weight and open.

It's a door.

I stumble out into the clean, crisp air which I greedily gulp down. I'm... I'm in my bedroom. Looking back I watch as Edward saunters out of my tiny linen closet with an unreadable expression.

"If you can not handle your own closet you definitely are not ready for the intricate details of what I do."

I feel sick. Bile rises rapidly in my throat and I make a hasty run to the bathroom to throw it all up. The bad omelette makes its appearance the same time Edward does. He pats the small of my back while I'm bent over the toilet.

The heat from his hand feels good, even through my clothes, but I don't want his help.

"Never, ever do that again," I moan. His hand rubs circles over my dress and I reach behind to smack it away. "Ever."

"I did not realise you were so sensitive to dark, small spaces. I am sorry."

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand I turn back to see he actually _does_ look apologetic. I don't trust it though, that man is good at faking human emotions, but I don't think he ever really feels them.

"I'm _not_ ," I say, my voice laced with snark. "What I'm sensitive to is being grabbed against my will and beamed away to what might be Hell."

"You wanted to know what I did and I showed you."

How could he possibly believe that's what I meant? He's frowning at me in genuine bewilderment as though I'm the one in the wrong, as though I'm crazy for being upset at his actions. I'm not crazy! Will that stigma never just die?

"Damn it, Edward!" I yell before I can censor myself. "I wanted to know how you took souls since there's one to be collected nearly every second. You knew that! You just wanted to scare me."

His frown deepens. "That is not true. Do not presume to tell me what I 'just wanted' to do, little Bella. If I wanted to merely scare you all I had to do is this."

There's a blast of bright light and an inky blackness stretches out from where I'm kneeling against the toilet. It's tendrils spread out along the basin and cabinets quickly. I release a shriek of surprise when the gathering darkness begins to creep up my legs. It has no warmth or coolness to it but I still attempt to smack it off.

Edward's loud laughter echoes through the bathroom.

"Little girl," he laughs, the words sounding like a term of endearment than insult, and reaches down to gently pick me up off the cool tiles. "You are even afraid of your own shadow."

My shadow?

The light dims as my eyes adjust properly to the excess amount of brightness. The deep darkness that spooked me softens against my skin to the regular shade of a shadow. My eyes squeeze shut in shame.

I'm pathetic.

I move out of his arms and rinse my mouth out to remove the foul aftertaste of sickness. I adamantly refuse to be embarrassed or let Edward's laughter get to me.

"What are you going to do about it?" he says curiously.

"About what?"

"These fears of yours. Shadows, the dark, small spaces; what are you going to do about them?"

I shoot him a look of annoyance. "My plan has so far consisted of avoiding small, dark, shadowy places, and it's been working out just fine, thanks."

He doesn't say anything in reply but I know what he must be thinking. It's what they all think at some point. That I'm weak. Cowardly. I hear it in their tones, and in their actions when they treat me with the same reserve they might with a child. I see it in their eyes when mine begin to water after a particularly nasty customer yells at me during a shift.

The little girl from the school of crazies who just can't handle the real world.

"I'm not weak," I tell him.

"I did not say you were," he counters with raised eyebrows. "There's no shame or weakness in being afraid of that which frightens you. Even if it's your own shadow."

"It didn't look like a shadow!"

"The only weakness is not improving yourself if the opportunity arises," he continues without missing a beat. "You completely ignore your fears rather than admit they exist. If you had a single weakness, it would be that."

I huff a sigh. It's easy for him to say that; he's an immortal lord of death so nothing can scare him. If someone frightens him – which in itself is impossible – he can walk right through them and be done with it. I'm a short, fine-boned girl brought up under the ever watchful eyes of nuns. Our experiences are a little different.

"I'm scared of dying too," I tell him, leaning against the basin to help steady myself without him, "but here I am, arguing with the king of death himself. I'm not afraid to do that."

"You are not afraid of me because I let you be not afraid of me." Another smile pulls at his lips. "I think I like having you around, I don't want to scare you off too quickly."

"No, I think I'm just not afraid of you full-stop," I say with a smirk. "I have conquered my fear of the Grim Reaper. How many others can say that? I am the conqueror of death itself. The Queen of death."

Edward stills for a moment, his eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise before he loses his smile and his face turns stony in seriousness. His eyes bore into mine with more intensity than I can handle and his nostrils are flaring with what I can only assume is anger.

 _Is he mad I joked about claiming the title of queen of death from him? Surely he knows I was teasing. I don't want such a label._

As he looks at me, though, I'm suddenly not so sure he realises it was a joke. Okay, maybe I'm a little afraid of him after all.

Just a little.

His eyes scan my face, taking in every small detail with his piercing gaze as though it was the first time he's seen me. In self-consciousness I bring my hands up to cover my cheeks and let my hair drop forward to cover my neck and shoulders like a shield.

"What is it? It was just a joke. Don't look at me like that."

He steps closer to me. So close that my back presses painfully against the porcelain sink and he takes my hands in his own. They're almost double the size of mine; the tips of my fingers don't even reach his middle knuckles. He lowers my hands from my face and I curse the furious blush I can feel spread across it.

"A queen of death?" he whispers in a tone I've never heard from him. "Perhaps one day. Except a queen of the dead would not flinch away from a soul crying out in need."

I shake his hands off, embarrassed at the fluttering sensation that forms in my stomach. He makes the smallest act feel dirty and erotic.

"You're talking about the woman at the cemetery. I wasn't prepared and she was–" I cut myself off.

"Scary?"

It may have been what I was about to say but I'm not about to let him know. I shrug with a sudden yawn; I awoke tired and the stress from the last few hours has taken its toll.

"You are tired but it is not yet midday," Edward says with disapproval, as observant as ever. I wonder if he realises how often he states the obvious. "I thought I frightened you to sickness when you took to the bathroom, but now I think you are plainly ill."

"I just haven't had enough sleep since learning about Leah. The couch isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on either, and it was probably the bad breakfast that made me sick."

"Then you will recuperate in your bed and see a healer when you wake up."

I'm definitely not going to go see a doctor but I don't let Edward know that. A quick nap, however, does sound good. To be able to sleep the stresses and shocks of the day away.

I allow Edward to lead me into the bedroom – as he seems completely insistent on making sure I follow his advice – and lie down on the soft, single bed. I thought falling asleep in the middle of the day might be more of a challenge, but the clean sheets combined with Edward's appealing, masculine smell from where he's sitting on the edge makes falling into a deep slumber all too easy.

I'm just _so_ tired.

I drift off to sleep so quickly I don't even notice when Edward runs a finger through my hair and whispers, "A queen of death, indeed."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading.


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